


forest.

by AquaWolfGirl



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Fantasy AU, Forest AU, Kind of Folklore inspired?, Oneshot, short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25536940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquaWolfGirl/pseuds/AquaWolfGirl
Summary: She's beautiful. That's the first thing he thinks, after hours of panic that he can't leave this forest. Even though his heart is beating and his veins are filled with fear, she's so, so beautiful.A little muse-y oneshot where Rey is the guardian of the forest and Ben is a hunter who's gotten lost. He can't leave the forest without offering something to her.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 36
Kudos: 283
Collections: Galactic Idiots Collection





	forest.

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was inspired by some gorgeous art from the lovely Lucia @lucylucius_ on Twitter, and Fran @galacticidiots for the prompt. Did I hammer this out in 3 hours? Yes. Should I eat? Probably. But I just had to get this out. So if it's not great, that's why. But it was fun to write something so muse-y for a change.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! And if you do, leave kudos or a comment!

She’s beautiful.

The thought bleeds through the panic of why he can’t go anywhere, of why he’s been wandering for hours, now, some invisible barrier keeping him from leaving the forest. His feet ache, his brow is damp with sweat from walking and from panic, and his heartbeat is much too fast for his liking.

And yet…

She’s so, so beautiful.

He’s never seen fabric so thin, almost glittering in the sunlight. Not even the wealthy ladies who pass through the town could own something so soft and ethereal. No amount of coin could pay for it.

Freckles. She has freckles, he realizes, once his eyes find her face instead of the pale outfit she wears. He’s not used to seeing trousers on a woman. It makes sense, he supposes. He can’t imagine one of the townswomen being able to scale a tree of that size in their heavy shifts and petticoats.

“I’ve never seen you before.”

Her voice is light. Curious. She’s young, so young, just into adulthood, he thinks. Looking at him with narrowed eyes and furrowed brow.

“Nor I you,” Ben says, breathless. “I’m sorry to disturb you, I was just lea-”

He turns around to go, to leave the beautiful woman to her peace and quiet, and walks directly into an invisible barrier. His nose, his toes, his body squishes into it, and he pulls back, grumbling. He’s surprised his nose isn’t broken, for how many times he’s walked into the barrier in the past hour.

“Everyone who enters my forest must offer something to me.”

She speaks a little louder, now, declaring it.

An offering, she says. It makes no sense to him. He’s been in this forest hundreds of times before. Spring, summer, winter, autumn. He’s caught many a hare, a squirrel, a deer, a bird. He’s hunted in this forest for years, now, so often that one visit blurs into the next in his mind. Not once has he come across this woman. Not once has he encountered the barrier he has today.

“Your forest?” Ben asks, frowning as he turns. “Says who?”

“Says me,” she replies matter-of-factly. She hops down from the tree with the grace and skill of someone who’s done it before, many, many times. She walks closer. Her feet are bare, skin stained green from the grass of the clearings and the weeds that pop up through the twigs and stones and pine needles and whatever else covers the forest floor. Some of those weeds are woven into her hair, the blossoming ones he thought were beautiful when he was younger, before he was told they were weeds and things to be removed and discarded. “I’m the guardian of this forest.”

Guardian? “Guarding it from what?”

“People who seek to ruin it.”

Her eyes find his bow, his quiver. They don’t narrow, but her lips thin a little as she regards him carefully.

“I am grateful to all the forest offers me,” Ben tries. “It’s flora, and it’s fauna.”

“Are you?” she asks, tilting her head. The flowers are so well-woven into her chestnut hair that they don’t move. Sun filters through the trees, dappling her skin as she regards him carefully. “… You are.”

He doesn’t ask how she knows it, how she assumed so quickly. Instead he says, “I have nothing but my bow and arrow.” He started the day with some cheese, some apples, some bread, but that’s long gone. And he saw no reason to bring coin with him. “If you let me leave, I will return with coin.”

“I have no use for coins,” she says simply, before her pretty lips split into a smile. He’s not sure whether it’s the beauty of it, or some sort of magic that makes him feel warm, like the gentle spring sun right after winter has passed. It warms his cheeks, his shoulders, his head, comforting and sweet. “You have something much more valuable.”

His confusion must have shown on his face, because she adds, “Yourself.”

“Myself,” he repeats.

“Yes.”

“What could I offer you?”

“Protection,” she replies. “Company.”

“No one ventures into the forest this far?”

“They do.” A pause. “But they never stay.”

Ah. 

“Could I leave?” he questions. "And then return? Once I have accepted? To settle my affairs?"

“If you wish to.” She sounds so sad. That warmth that he felt before disappears. He shivers, suddenly chilled. It’s no fault of hers, he’s sure. Just the absence of that warmth. "So long as you return." Her voice is low. She doubts he would.

He has no wish to leave, though. There’s nothing for him back in the town. His parents left ages ago, seeking a new life where the world and winters are not so hard on them. He makes some money with his hunt, but not enough to know the riches and indulgences of the wealthy class. His home is in constant need of repair, his money box in constant need of more coin. He has no livestock to care for, no farm to manage…

So what if he did stay?

The same way she knew his honesty, he supposes, she knows his answer, and she reaches out a hand. So small, so delicate, but he can see the callouses, some scrapes and scratches, no doubt from climbing trees and whatever else a forest guardian does.

He takes it.

Immediately there is that warmth again, her smile radiant before she’s tugging him along, further into the forest.

-

Rey. Her name is _Rey._

She leads him to her home. For a good portion of his first day with her, he assumed she just lived in the trees. And there was some truth to that. There is a home up in the branches, the oak trees limbs cradling it as though bowing to her and offering their support. And maybe they are.

He’s already seen some … magic, he supposes, is the best word for it. In the way that a bird lands on her hand, in the way the flowers turn towards her as they walk.

The staircase winds up around the thick trunk of the biggest oak, stairs made of planks of wood and railing made of branches.

“Fallen in storms,” Rey explains. “I can’t protect the forest from everything.”

It makes sense. And he’s also a bit relieved. To be following a woman who can control the weather … it would be too much. It’s already overwhelming to see what she’s capable of.

Her home is larger than his little house back in town. Warmer, too, in that he’s immediately surrounded by things she obviously loves. He can’t think of a damn thing back home he’d want with him.

There are flowers, in vases of what he thinks is clay, probably from the nearby riverbed, intricately carved and decorated with imprints of other flowers. There are garlands of dried blossoms, herbs and flowers hanging from the ceiling. A fireplace, with stonework and clay to protect the wooden structure of the house, with pots and a tea kettle.

“Where—”

“Not everyone returns to the where they left,” Rey says in explanation when he gestures to them. “There are those I can’t guide out.”

She sounds sad again. He’s heard stories of a handful who’ve gotten lost in the forest, whose bodies were eventually found upstream after a few weeks, a month. She can’t control the weather, and she can’t control those whose time has come, apparently.

He sees the offerings right away. A branch hanging from the ceiling by rope made from dried grass. Necklaces and pendants, both on metal chains and leather cords, hang from the thickest part of it. Smaller branches hold rings, bracelets, other shiny trinkets. Ben reaches out, touching a few, the metal cool against his fingers. Next to it, a wall of weapons. Daggers and swords upon the wall, bows leaning against it. Things people have given to her in order to return to their lives, their families.

“They tend to put value into things that shine,” Rey says, coming up beside him and reaching up to touch them, too. “They’re pretty, but have no worth to me.”

“What does have worth to you?” he asks, genuinely curious.

She’s silent, for a moment, and he can tell she’s thinking. Her brow furrows a bit, and when she turns he can see the way the sunlight hits her hair, brightening the gold and copper in it that no doubt comes from spending time in such sunlight. “… Kindness,” she says, looking back at him. “And finding beauty in what hasn’t been altered.”

“Like what?”

“Rocks,” she replies, so simply that he has to fight back his laughter as she continues. “Rocks that someone found unique and beautiful. Flowers, for the same. A stick someone used for walking, that has guided them through the forest, been their companion and support. Things like that.”

“You wish for people to offer you things that you can find all around you, then.”

“I wish for people to offer me things that have value to them, as they are the way they were created,” Rey explains gently. “I see no value in these.” Her hands touch the necklaces again, metal clinking together and making a gentle sound.

“There are many of those who would beg to differ.”

“I am not like many.”

And indeed, she isn’t.

She makes a bed for him of wood and down feathers and woven silk from insects, the same material her … cape … thing is made out of. There are furs, too, and at his questioning look, she answers.

“They lived their lives. Some of them return to the earth, to nourish and help others. Some of them nourish me, keeping me warm and fed, and I give those living my protection in return,” she says. “Nothing is wasted. Nothing dies poorly.”

She says poorly, and he knows she means hunted, or at the very least hunted in excess. He’s heard of those who do it for sport, for the game of it all, the thrill of killing something bigger and more powerful than them.

He is not such.

And somehow she knows that.

-

Their days are simple. She wanders, he follows. One day flows into another. Time has no meaning anymore. There are no rest days, there are no worship days, there is only them and the forest. He only notices autumn approaching when the days get cooler, and she leaves the gossamer cape behind in favor of a fur, wrapped around her shoulders. Still, she doesn’t wear shoes, even as snow starts to cover the ground.

He’s never seen bare footprints in the snow, because he was always surrounded by those more sensible, he supposes, but there’s beauty in them, he guess. In their innocence, and playfulness.

He still thinks she’s odd, and asks often whether she wants boots, socks, something.

She always says no, with a wry little smile.

-

“Everyone who enters my forest must offer something to me.”

Another hunter.

Ben waits in the shadow of the trees, the single dagger he keeps with him in his hand should something go awry. She’s told him before, of the men who refuse her, those who shout and scream and then beg before she lets them go. “When they disturb the peace, they must leave,” she’d explained.

This man disturbs the peace.

He argues. He bargains. He insists he has nothing of value when Ben can plainly see the rings on his fingers and the shining hilt of the dagger at his side. A wealthy man, indeed. One who sees value only in things that shine, and not the value of what’s around him.

He takes a step forward, and Ben does as well, stepping from the shadows.

Rey receives a shining silver ring, and the peace is kept.

“Want it?” she asks, offering it to him. He takes it, tries to put it on. It only comes down to his second knuckle.

“He doesn’t hunt often,” Ben assumes, taking it off and handing it to her again. “Weak hands.”

“For his own gain,” Rey replies.

“I’d think so.”

Winter is quiet, mostly. There aren’t many who venture this far into the forest. The dangers of freezing to death mean that hunters don’t venture as far. They can wander for hours in the summer. They don’t get that luxury in the winter.

They still wander, and return to what he now calls _their_ home once it gets dark. He learns that the bundles hanging from the ceiling are used for tea, or for stew. The tea isn’t quite so bitter as the kind he used to make. She sweetens it with honey.

-

He falls in love with her the next autumn, a year and a season after he walked into her protective barrier.

He’s been on the edge for a while now, admiring the freckles on her skin and the way her cheeks flush from the warmth of the sun through spring and summer. But the moment he thinks it is when he wakes to find her gone, and he looks out the balcony of their home to find her raking the leaves into a pile. She’s only somewhat succeeding, because animals are playful, and several squirrels and a fox keep jumping into the leaves to have their fun. He can hear her laughter more easily through the trees, the lack of leaves not absorbing the sound. He watches her jump in. The leaves are a little damp from morning dew, spots of water darkening the cream trousers she wears.

She returns breathless, with leaves in her hair, grinning with joy and childish delight, and he reaches out to pluck a crimson maple leaf from her hair before he cups her cheek and meets her eyes.

She tastes as crisp as an autumn apple, her fingers gentle as they sink into his hair. He can feel the leaves in hers, can feel the dampness of her shirt as his hand finds her waist, but it makes the moment all the more sweet.

The evening chill isn’t quite so persistent. Her warm skin against his banishes any cool breeze that finds it’s way between the wooden walls of their home. He kisses her lips, her nose, her brow, her shoulders, her breasts, her stomach, _everything_ until his lips are swollen and she’s laughing, pulling him up to her once more and indulging in her own kisses.

Her ring is one of woven grass. It gets worn and weak after a few days, just from being on the finger of a woman who climbs trees and picks flowers and runs her fingers through his hair, but that just means he gets to make another one, and slip it on her finger and make his promises all over again.

His ring is from a river rock, smooth from the water and her wearing it down until it fit and looked like a true ring. She worked at it for months, she tells him when she gives it to him. While he was asleep or going to forage for things for their dinner. He almost caught her once, she said, and he remembers one time he came back because it was too cold, and she looked slightly awkward, cheeks flushed and lips parted and eyes wide.

Some day he’ll take her to his parents, he says, her head resting against his shoulder and her stem-stained fingers tracing circles on his bare chest. Or he’ll go and bring them here, to let them live out their days in the comfort and simplicity of the forest. The one he and Rey both protect, now, as he protects her, as she protects it. The forest they both love as they love each other.

 _Their_ forest.


End file.
